Why Should that Mean it's not Real?
by futurescreenwriter11
Summary: Is Sherlock Holmes real? Does the world's greatest and only consulting detective actually exist? Or he is a figment of John's imagination?


Why Should that Mean it's not Real?

"Come on, John! We're losing him." Sherlock's voice from around the corner came out in short gasps. John pushed himself harder, attempting to ignore the burn in his chest. It had been awhile since he had run for this long. He silently cursed and promised himself to begin a regular cardio routine.

John turned the corner, finding an empty dark alley. "Sherlock?" he called.

"This way!" Sherlock's voice echoed behind him. Back on the main road, John caught up with his dark haired friend. The large man was still ahead of them, running with almost supernatural stamina.

John didn't know how long he could go on, the burning had spread to his sides and was seeping down to his legs. A steady stream of obscenities ran through his mind. Suddenly, the man turned down another dark alley.

Sherlock practically threw himself around the corner, but was met by three brick walls. The man had disappeared.

"No! No, no, no!" Sherlock growled, spinning about in the small pocket of space. He ran his fingers through his hair, turning to John. "Did you see him?"

John was bent over, wheezing. He held up a finger. "Gimme…a…minute…"

"John." Sherlock groaned. "We've lost him."

"He…can't have …disappeared into…thin…air." John forced himself to stand upright and immediately regretted the decision.

Sherlock looked in one of the dirty windows and grimaced. "He's gone." He paused for a minute, his brilliant mind working rapidly. Sherlock's mouth dropped open. "Oh!" He looked around at random points in space, mind spinning at dizzying speeds. "No…yes? No. …Yes." He smiled and clapped his hands together. "Quickly, John. There's no time to lose." He slapped John's shoulder as he started running away again. John groaned and started walking after Sherlock.

_Quiet. He was always so quiet. He'd never spoken a word to him and he'd known him for several months now. He would sleep till it was time to wake, then clean and dress without a sound. No words spoken over breakfast and he would calmly sit at a table in the main room and draw all day. He kept all his drawings in a drawer by his bed. Not a single word would escape his lips the entire day, he communicated through shakes and nods of his head, with the occasional shrug. _

_ "Good night." Dr. Greg Lestrade would tell him. Silence, but that was to be expected. Still waters run deep, his mother had once told him. John Watson must have been unfathomable._

"Five minutes, or Anderson will have a fit." Lestrade reminded them as the pair followed him into the room.

"I hope he does, be the most activity his mind has ever had." Sherlock commented to John. The victim was lying on the floor, she was an elderly woman. Her mouth was open as if in shock and a cat sat nearby. It hissed as Lestrade approached.

"Thing won't leave her side." He explained, backing away hesitantly from the feline. Sherlock knelt down next to the woman, pulling out his pocket magnifier. The cat didn't hiss but watched Sherlock closely as he examined the body.

"Widowed, 10+ years. Extremely close relationship with the cat." John took down notes as Sherlock continued examining. "Of minimal intelligence."

"It appears she choked to death." Lestrade said, still eyeing the cat. "On…some cat food." As if in response the cat let out a long meow. Sherlock looked up at Lestrade, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Cat food?"

"Yes…" Anderson entered the room, with Donovan right behind him. "Perhaps she wanted to taste it, was so repulsed by it-"

"Anderson, go be stupid somewhere else." Sherlock stood up and put away his magnifier. "No, she didn't choke on cat food."

"Course she did, we found cat food in her throa-"

"You found cat food in her throat but did you notice the fibers around her mouth? Hmm?" Sherlock's eyes were narrowed as Anderson crossed his arms. "Cotton fibers, like those from oh, I don't know, a pair of gloves? That a killer may have worn to cover his finger prints."

Anderson didn't respond, he obviously knew he could not win.

"And did you happen to know she had a son? Pictures on the dresser, a boy growing up, but the pictures stop after graduation. They're not on good terms. Could be any number of reasons, but probably his gambling problem, several of the pictures were taken at card games and, oh yes, a horse race." Sherlock began to pace about the room, pointing to the dresser then to the desk. "She has a life insurance policy, and a pretty large one at that. Son with a gambling problem, mother with life insurance, open and shut. Really, Lestrade, don't you have anything more interesting?"

_ "It's that time of the day again." Sally said, glancing up at the clock and sighing heavily. _

_ "Your turn to hold him down." David responded, putting down the file he was reading and reaching for the medicine cabinet. Dr. Greg happened by the nurse's station and Sally quickly reached for his coat._

_ "Got a minute?" she asked._

_ Greg glanced up at the clock and realizing exactly what she was asking he shook his head. "No. That's the last time I want to be cursed at in a language I didn't even know existed and I still have bruises from where he karate chopped me. Who gave him the book on Jujitsu?"_

_ "Will you sit with John then? The whole thing goes a lot better when he's not there."_

_ Since Greg didn't actually have anywhere else to be at the moment, he had to agree. The two nurses and doctor entered the room. John was drawing another picture and Sherlock was pouring over another book. Dr. Greg quickly took John's hand._

_ "Let's go take a walk." He suggested, guiding the quiet man out of the room. Sally was already attempting to hold John's roommate, Sherlock, still while David attempted to insert a needle into his arm. Even with John out of the room, Sherlock wasn't having it._

_ The sounds of struggle disappeared as Greg and his patient left the hallway. They stopped to watch a gurney roll past, the body was covered in a bag and a cat sat on top. They continued walking down the hall and ended up in the main room, where many people were shuffling about or calmly sitting. A volunteer was passing out cookies._

_ "Are you hungry, John?" Dr. Greg asked, there was no reply but John walked towards the older woman. She smiled when she saw John and Greg._

_ "Chocolate-chip, John, your favorite." She said, handing him a cookie. John took a small bite and sat down in a near by chair. Greg turned back to the volunteer._

_ "Mrs. Hudson, you already clean this place, and you're back on your day off with cookies. Don't you ever get sick of us?" he smiled. Mrs. Hudson shook her head, giving Greg a cookie as well._

_ "I spent so much time here when Albert was in his last days…I miss it when I'm not here." Greg sat down next to her, he had cared for her husband while he slowly wasted away. They had given her the cleaning job to help pay for his bills, and when he died she still came in and cleaned the hospital. They surveyed the group of patients. "They need love, Dr. Greg. Like we all do. And it's nice to be needed again." She continued._

Mrs. Hudson's mouth dropped open with surprise. "Sherlock! Is that…that a…a…"

"A foot, Mrs. Hudson. Please don't touch it, it's decaying." Sherlock explained from his perch at the kitchen counter. He had several vials of bubbling liquid before him.

"But…what's it doing in the fridge?" she demanded, looking into the living room at John for some support. John quickly looked away and pretended to not be listening. He knew better than to get embroiled in a battle between Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.

"It's an experiment. Shut the door. Light exposure affects the decaying process." Sherlock glanced up at her then back to his current experiment. Mrs. Hudson huffed but shut the door.

"It's not decent. It's unhygienic, too! You're going to kill yourself one of these days with your experiments."

Sherlock looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Isn't time for you to go visit the baker downstairs? He just got back from visiting his wife in Istanbul and is feeling a little down after he found out she's cheating on him."

"Sherlock." John warned, giving up the pretense of not listening. Mrs. Hudson straightened herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She insisted but chose to leave the room. John leaned on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

"Was that really necessary?"

"She deserves to know she's not his 'one and only' as he told her."

"You know sometimes people don't want to know."

"Why?" Sherlock looked up at John. "Why would you want to live a lie?"

"Because sometimes it's easier or safer or nicer than the truth."

_"Case worker visit season." Sally informed Greg as she handed him several files. It must have been a conspiracy as all the case workers seemed to show up within several weeks of each other. They may have been a rather small home, but it was still a pain in the neck to have to deal with all the social workers. "There's one in your office now."_

_ "Which one?" Greg asked, looking over the charts. He'd had a run in the year previous with a rather…determined caseworker. Irene Adler thought she knew how to run the entire home._

_ "Not the Woman." David chimed into the conversation. "She appears to have been sacked."_

_ "Word is that she and the elder brother Holmes didn't see eye to eye when it came to the care of Sherlock." Sally smirked. The Woman and Mycroft Holmes were legends around the home, and for good reason. They rarely visited Sherlock, but when they did it was always memorable. "So they hired someone new, someone more willing to bend to the whims of the Holmes family."_

_ "Well, who is it?" Greg asked. Sally and David shared a smirk._

_ "We'll let you see for yourself." Greg sighed and stomped away to his office. He opened up the door to find a short woman with pretty brown hair in a long side ponytail. She smiled at him and Greg forgot how to speak for a moment._

_ "Hello. I'm Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes' caseworker." She put out her hand, and Greg took it. He shook his head and struggled to appear a bit more professional. _

_ "I'm Dr. Greg Lestrade." _

_ "Nice to meet you, Doctor. If it's alright, I'd like to meet with Sherlock and talk to him a bit." Greg nodded in a rather dazed fashion. He felt a little guilty as he lead Miss Hooper towards room 221B, partially for his inability to retain professional dignity and also because he knew that Sherlock was going eat Miss Hooper alive. _

_ John was sitting on his bed, drawing again. And Sherlock was closely examining the corpse of a rabbit from the garden, which Greg quickly confiscated._

_ "This is Sherlock and there's his roommate, John Watson." He explained, trying to hide the carcass._

_ "Hello, Sherlock, I'm Molly Hooper." She smiled again, but Sherlock's face was passive. _

_ "I want the specimen back." He said to Dr. Greg._

_ "No. I'll leave you two to…chat." Greg ducked out of the room, doubting that any sort of chatting would happen. Molly emerged about half an hour later; her smile had somewhat dimmed. _

_ "Thank you, Doctor." She said, signing out at the front desk._

_ "Greg. Greg is fine." He said quickly. She nodded and picked up her briefcase. "Will you be coming back or…?"_

_ Molly looked back towards the direction of the room. "Yes, it will take more than Sherlock Holmes to scare me away."_

_ Greg smiled and nodded. Maybe he'd get another chance to talk with her._

_ "I did wonder, I know it's not much of my business. But John, Sherlock's roommate, he doesn't speak?"_

_ "…No. He's capable of communicating…but doesn't. Just draws…all day."_

_ "What does he draw?"_

_ Greg paused and thought. He'd been John's doctor for months, but hadn't even glimpsed any of his drawings. "You know…I don't know."_

_ Molly nodded, then walked towards the door. "See you in a few weeks, Greg."_

"Coffee, Molly." Sherlock commanded as he and John entered the lab. Molly looked up from her work, the pen still in her mouth.

"But I-"

"And Mr. Willis' corpse too." He continued, setting himself down in the stool next to her. She frowned. Sherlock managed a smile for her, and she finally got down off the chair. The smile disappeared the moment she turned her back. John was standing off to the side, a slight frown on his face.

"You shouldn't do that." He said, sitting in another stool.

"Do what?"

"Take advantage of her. She likes you, you know."

"Yes." Sherlock picked up a petri dish and examined it in the light.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I know she admires me."

"So why do you manipulate her like that?"

Molly re-entered the lab with the coffee in hand. She handed it to Sherlock with a small smile and then exiting again to pull Mr. Willis' corpse.

"I don't manipulate. I use the resources I have at hand to the fullest of their ability."

John leveled Sherlock a look as Molly returned to the lab. Sherlock calmly exited the lab, and Molly returned to her work. John waited for a few minutes then spoke again,

"You know you don't have to run errands for him."

"…I know." She said, glancing up at him and blushing slightly.

"Why do you do it then?" he pressed.

She shrugged. "I don't mind doing the things…normally. And…I don't know…I feel less useless when he's around, if he asks me to help him."

"But you're not useless."

"I know. But it doesn't change how I feel. Especially when he's around. It's easier to pretend that he needs me to pull the corpses or to get his coffee. And in a way…I think he knows it too. It's his way of saying thanks."

John just looked at Molly for a little bit. "Molly Hooper…you are incredible." He said, slowly. She smiled and blushe-

_Greg walked down the dark silent halls; he had stayed late to work on a few things. He found himself passing by room 221B, he paused and backed up. Miss Hooper's question repeated in his mind, what had John been drawing all these months? _

_ Greg opened the door, finding the room dark. He quietly made his way to the bedside table and slid the drawer open. He took the first several sheets of paper and held them up the moonlight. _

_They weren't drawings, they were stories. Stories about everyone at Baker Street Assisted Living Center, Greg quickly realized as he scanned down the page._

"_Greg?" _

_He turned around to find the head administrator of the home at the door. _

"_Hallo, Dr. Doyle." He said, glancing back to the papers in his hands. Dr. Doyle entered the room._

"_What are those?" he whispered, looking at the scribbles on the page. _

"_Stories. John wrote them." He gestured to the sleeping man beside him. Dr. Doyle took the papers and read down the page. He smiled and chuckled a little._

"_You're a detective inspector for Scotland Yard."_

"_I wish."_

"_Apparently, Sherlock doesn't much care for Nurse Anderson…or Donovan." He finished scanning the page, which ended abruptly mid-sentence. "I thought John didn't speak."_

"_He doesn't. …I guess he puts all his words and ideas into this fictional place, instead of speaking. Wonder if he sees his whole world this way...?"_

_Dr. Doyle shook his head and put the papers back. "In all honesty, who's to say that he's completely wrong in his ideas?"_

"_But it's all happening in his mind."_

"_The mind is a strange place, Dr. Lestrade. Even if it is all in his mind, why on Earth should that mean it's not real?"_

_ "Sir?"_

_ "I'll leave you to your deductions." Dr. Doyle smiled a bit and handed the papers back to Greg. Greg replaced the papers, and returned to his empty house. As he went to sleep that night, he pondered John's stories. A part of him almost hoped they were real._

The End


End file.
